


To have and to hold

by Catharrington



Series: Filthy Bloodsuckers [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Child Abuse, Dead Neil Hargrove, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Protective Steve Harrington, Vampire Steve Harrington, Vampire Turning, murder boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: Billy loved to push limits and go where he wasn’t allowed. He loved the thrill of breaking the rules enforced by monkeys in their bright blue suits. He especially loved to come here to soil the name of his father. Billy learned quick after he arrived in Hawkins, Indiana the only people who don’t spill their guts are the dead.“Bear me no ill will, my love, we are now even.” - Louis de Pointe du Lac
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Filthy Bloodsuckers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992085
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	To have and to hold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to my Two vampire au!! Universe inspired and influenced by The Vampire Chronicles.  
> I’ve collected it into a series and honestly y’all can just jump around. there isn’t any order here, just my wild imagination ;)

Billy let his Camaro drive him in a blurry red haze to exactly where he needed to go. When he escaped the balled fists of his father, Billy had ran— just ran— without a plan in the world but a fear in his heart. Blood was beating through his veins jack rabbit fast, and starting to gather in the leather seat under him. 

He was briefly aware of a long gash across his stomach but Billy was anything if stubborn, he pushed onwards. 

He flattened his boot against the bottom of his cars floor and didn’t let up on its speed until he was past the sprawling gate of the Cemetery. This was an off-limits, ancient feeling place. The old Harrington Cemetery.

Billy loved to push limits and go where he wasn’t allowed. He loved the thrill of breaking the rules enforced by monkeys in their bright blue suits. He especially loved to come here to soil the name of his father. Billy learned quick after he arrived in Hawkins, Indiana the only people who don’t spill their guts are the dead. 

And graveyards don’t tell your father about the boy you kiss in the moonlight. Living people do that. 

The Camaro lurched to a stop on the narrow gravel road. Billy forced his hands to grip shaken against the handle and pushed it open. He stumbled out into the cold air, taking a deep breath of rotting things, and instantly felt better. 

Until another gnawing noise filled the night air. Another car, a heavy tan colored truck with wide bright headlights, pushed through the fog and almost pushed into the back of the parked Camaro. Billy watched with widened eyes as his father stepped out of the truck with burning hatred in his eyes. 

There was no fight left in Billy’s spent body, so he lurched forward and tried to run as far into the sprawling graveyard as possible. 

He ran, boots hitting the wet grass hard, his hands clutched in fists over his stomach trying in vain to keep the blood from dripping down, and the smell of panic reeking from his sweat. His father followed, the only injury on him bruised and bloodied knuckles. 

A familiar statue loomed right in the middle of the cemetery. A winged woman with one hand out stretched, and the other clutched to her breast. Billy loved her. He had spent many nights laying on this particular aristocrat’s grave at her feet, the cold marble slat covering the soil sunk into the ground made for a perfect bed for dead lovers to embrace. 

The name Harrington carved deep by hammer and chisel into the base of the statue was soft under his finger tips most nights, but now, as Billy let himself collapse down into the grave, the rock was painful on his broken bones. 

“Where are you running to, Son? Haven’t I taught you anything about running away from your responsibility!” The voice of his father behind him shook the beads of water on the ground with its fury. 

Billy kept his head down and allowed his father to approach. He was turned away from his father, his elbows holding himself up on the marble grave, and his head hanging forward limp between his shoulders. 

As if he were praying.

“I’m going to give you some learning you won’t be forgetting!” Then Billy felt his shirt bunch up and rip from his body. The red silk he’s worn well and loved so much crumbled to the ground broken. A pool of blood. 

He groaned low out into the night air someone’s name, more so a name than a plea for the pain to stop. 

Behind him his father yanked the belt from his pants, Billy could hear the leather snap as harsh as a whip in his hands. His father brought one arm up and then down with all his might and let his heavy metal buckle rip into the skin of his son’s back. Billy bucked forward with a lurch and a scream, but he couldn’t make his legs move to run anymore. 

A hand raised into the air, the belt swooping a horrible sound as it got ready for another taste of torn flesh, then silence. Billy was biting into his bottom lip trying to ready himself for the impact but it never came. 

One second, then two seconds ticked by. 

Then Billy felt the air move in the way it does every time, and he knew he wasn't alone anymore.  
Thin long fingers swept across the tears on his face. “My sweet, William.” A melodious voice cooed. Billy let out a weak sob. “My dear, sweet angel trapped inside a brothel. What a sloppy hand of cards this world has delt you?” 

Billy dared to open his eyes, more tears falling fat down his face, and he’s met with the prettiest boy he’s ever seen. Long brown hair colored black in the moonlight pushed back in a swoop, thick but arched brows furrowed together in concern, and skin so luminescent and pale Billy would describe it as marble. 

Yet with all this beauty, Billy couldn’t stop looking deep into hazel colored eyes. They glistened in the light an otherworldly yellow that reminded him of a cats eyes as they stand off the side of the road and reflect the colors of the Camaro headlights back at him. 

Billy let out a sob again. 

“Please,” Billy felt himself beg, and it hurt more than the white hot pain in his stomach. “Please, you spooky as shit monster. Just kill me.”

The marble statue of a boy’s face split into a wide smile, fond and warm despite the hissed words. His fingers continued to pet across Billy’s rosy cheeks. “You beg me for death?” 

Billy watched as the words were spoken how he could make out the others teeth elongating to heinous points behind his pretty pink lips. 

“No one would miss me.” Billy closed his eyes. 

“I would miss you,” the words were nothing more than a whisper. Long fingers curled down from his cheeks to splay against his throat. Billy’s pulse jumped and thundered beneath his tanned skin. “I would miss you so dearly, my angel.” 

Billy felt his body lift from the cold stone of the grave. A strong arm wrapped around the small of his back to steady him while the other cupped his throat so gently he wanted to let out another pathetic sob. But Billy held, gritting his teeth, as the pain in his stomach flowered under the movement and sent surging the cracked and broken bones inside his used body. 

Billy focused on the pain so much so he didn’t realize his feet had left the ground. 

The monster was holding him close, cradling him to his icy, blackened chest warmer and softer than Billy’s own mother ever could. Ever did. Billy let his hands find a grasp in suit jacket lapels and he held with all his strength that remained. 

“Let me keep you, William. Let me have you and hold you. I can make you stronger than any man in this world or the next. I promise you.” The words were spoken lightly into Billy’s mess of blond curls. 

Billy then felt the hand on his neck pulled him to look. He opened his eyes and more tears fell. The other was looking back at him with a single melted silver tear dripping down his own cheek. That was something Billy had never seen. That was something that took the rest of his shallow breath away. 

“Vampires can cry,” he laughed and it cut his insides open that much more. 

The other only replied with a smile. 

“Steve, I don’t understand wha-,” Billy tried to get out but his chest crumbled inside of him. His words cut off with a flush of blood into his mouth. Billy coughed and hacked trying to get life back into his lungs. When he finally caught air he turned his chin up and smiled at his monster, blood covering his white teeth bright red. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, babe,” he rasped, “I’m just... another motherfucker.”

Fingers pressed hard against the shaft of his throat. Any other words were caught and killed inside as Billy felt his skin pierced by that mouthful of fangs. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as all the pain burning his body recedes to just the teeth along his neck. Any breath or sounds went with the sensation and he was left helplessly limp inside his monster’s arms. 

The only thing Billy could feel other than pain was the wet press of a kiss of pretty pink lips against his throat. So soft, so familiar, so much. He looked half lidded eyes up to the moon as the monster above him took his fill. 

Then, with a roar and a gasp, the fangs recoiled from his throat. Billy felt the air rush into him all at once. 

He realized suddenly he was laying on his back on the slate of marble, with his legs flat and his arms out like Jesus crucified on the cross. Leaning over him as beautiful and terrifying as the statue of marble towering above him was his monster. 

With a gentle hand he caressed the side of Billy’s cheek, serenely watched him draw in shallow breaths. 

“Stay with me, by my side, forever,” he whispered silky as his touch. 

Billy couldn’t move an inch of his body to reply. He laid limp, dying, until color came back into his world in the form of copper. Rust colored red dripped like molten metal right from the thin wrist of the monster, dripped down in long globs against Billy’s parted lips. 

Without thinking or direction: he drank, opening his mouth wider and letting the flavor of copper take his senses. The wrist it was dripping from lowered to his mouth like a mother’s milk giving him life. Billy drank in needy gulps. 

He didn’t realize he had lifted his hand until he felt the cold skin under his fingers. Curling around his monsters arm that was cold as an iron beam. Billy grasped it hard, squeezing as he drank until his stomach was raw with it. Under his touch the skin of his monster seemed to warm. 

Or maybe, Billy’s skin was growing cold. 

“Enough,” his monster gasped out. The sway of emotions in his voice new. The strain on his melodious tone worried taught, like a string, as he struggled to pull back his wrist from Billy’s grasp. 

He broke free with a whimper. Billy had heard that noise before. It was music to him, hidden away in the nights of this cemetery. He thought he had it hidden so well. But Billy had to bring his troubles here. Had to mess the whole affair up with his home clinging to his back strong as hooks in his skin. Following him in a roaring Ford truck to make sure he can never escape. 

Billy’s thoughts fade away as he starts to hear a rushing noise. It takes him a moment to realize it’s his blood, rushing and rushing and running just as he had. Under his skin his body shapes, moves his bones with a steady clicking noise. 

He groans, throws his head back as he feels them shift along his lungs and click accurately back into place. 

In an instant, as if a feeding tube was ripped from the depths of his throat, he could breath again. 

“Steve,” he breathed out. His first word with his new bones. With his new breath. With his new life. 

“Steve,” he reached out to touch the skin of his lover. The arm that reached backwards and felt him was warm to the touch. Under his skin his body vibrates with blood rushing through his veins. Slowly, just enough, but Billy can feel it. He can smell it. It makes his mouth water because it smells like honey dripping fresh from the cone. Sweet syrup he could sink his teeth into and never come up from. 

Steve smiled down at him, his face ruddy with love and blood. A gentle smear of red across his plump lips and down one side to curve around his chin. He had never looked so beautiful, and Steve had always been the prettiest damn thing to Billy. But now he shone as if the moonlight itself came to their safe heaven as a human form. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and his hair matched, Billy wanted to drown in his river of chocolate. Go under the waves and die from it. 

But in a way, in a striking joy that ran up his back and over his shoulders, he already had died in his monster’s waves. 

Billy lifted from the marble slate to cup Steve’s cheeks between his palms. He brought their lips together in a kiss that was warmer than the blood dripping down his neck onto his bare chest. Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s ribs and pulled him close. Slipped his hands up Billy’s back to feel the unblemished skin, healed from the transformation. 

“My angel,” Steve purrs into Billy’s lips, “forgive me for what I’ve done, what I’ve shared— but with my curse I saved you, and for that I will never atone.” 

Billy shook his head. His hands still cradling Steve’s face gently. “Don’t talk out your ass, babe. You’ve saved my life, and I asked for it didn’t I?” 

Steve giggled. His lips parting to show his pointed teeth. “I shall never grow tired of your way with words, William. Ever the romantic.” 

Billy brought him in for another kiss, reassuring in the way their lips slotted together perfectly. As if a piece of Billy broken off and lost out to sea had floated back to shore. Steve’s hands felt like the weight of wings holding onto his shoulder blades, holding so sure and gentle it was amazing Billy could feel his skin at all. When it all felt like bushy feathers. 

“Wait,” Steve broke off the kiss in a gasp, his open jaw twisting into a mischievous smirk. Billy searched his face curiously. “Wait. How could I forget. I’ve gotten you a present, Angel.” 

Steve stands up. Brings his hands down Billy’s shoulders to his hands. Interlaces their fingers together, locking them tightly with a squeeze. It feels like a promise of forever. Billy lets Steve take his hand and pull him up. Let’s him walk off the marble slate that’s their home, their safety in such a cruel dark world. And it feels like he’s answering forever with always. 

They walk hand in hand towards a mass on the ground, it slithers around trying to crawl from them as they get closer. Billy’s breath caught, his chest swelling up to his neck as he recognized the shape on the ground. 

Neil Hargrove wiggled like a worm at his feet. Clutching the side of his head with both his hands as dark crimson flowed out between his fingers in thick globs. He turned his face into the ground, moaning out in pain. Then, as if he knew they came to stand over him, he turned to level Billy with a glare. 

The force of it was lost, however. Billy wasn’t afraid anymore. He wasn’t human anymore, couldn’t feel the sting of a fist or the whip of a belt on his back. 

Now he was made out of marble like his monster. Now he couldn’t be touched by disappointed eyes and cruel words, the abuse of a father was a small thing under his boots. The world in forever and always stretched out before him. 

“Drink,” Steve spoke. His voice silky as it unraveled against the shell of his ear. “Drink his blood. You know how. It will tie you to me for an eternity.”

Billy turned his head to see Steve so beautiful right beside him. Smiling as he nodded. Smiled wide, smiled as if nothing could stop him. 

“Ain’t nothing gonna stop me from loving you, baby,” Billy sang— his voice pitched with joy. His fangs growing sharp under his lips. Already dyed with blood. 

He swooped down and buried them into Neil’s neck, snapping through his skin into his veins and then snapping them as well. He moaned as blood flooded into his mouth. Filling his stomach he already thought was full. Making his skin feel ruddy with warmth and come alive. 

Neil whimpered under him, his life slowly leaving his wretched body. Billy took pleasure it in, trying to savor until the very last second.

Steve dipped forward to take his cheeks between his hands, pulling Billy away from the fluttering heart beat of his father as it slowed down to an almost stop. Billy came off his throat with a gasp, sucking down stale graveyard air desperately. 

“We do not drink the dead,” his monster tutored him, thumbs sweeping over Billy’s cheeks. “It would kill us. Dead blood. And it does no good to linger on the dead, either.” 

Billy felt himself nod more than he knew he was doing it. His body felt drunk and foggy, amazing in his stupor. 

“I love you, spooky bastard,” Billy rasped out. His voice raw as a wrought iron gate tip. 

Steve cradled his head gently, so gently, curled his fingers round Billy’s chin dripping wet and soaking with blood. Felt along his throat where the red splattered down across his bare chest. And then Steve buried his fingertips into the back of Billy’s hair, his curls bouncy still even when moist from the blood of his victim. 

“I love you for all eternity, my Angel,” Steve replied, sealing the promise with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out @ Catharrington on tumblr.com


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